


Both Your Hands in the Holes of My Sweater

by MrSandman



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Jumpers, M/M, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSandman/pseuds/MrSandman
Summary: Jack finds a jumper of his that Ianto has been wearing, and sentimentality ensues.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	Both Your Hands in the Holes of My Sweater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessoftheworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/gifts), [sprinklerino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinklerino/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sweater Weather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929614) by [princessoftheworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds). 



> Hello! This is a spiritual successor to princessoftheworlds / Nik’s fic Sweater Weather - which you should absolutely go and read before you read this, because it is an _adorable_ little ficlet and it makes this make sense - after she challenged me to write the follow-up that I envisaged in her comments section. This is also for sprinklerino / Sprinkle, who came up with the original idea and who I hope will appreciate this tooth-rotting fluff too!
> 
> Un-betaed, so any and all mistakes are my own! Title taken from Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood, because I just had to...

“Oh? What’s this?” 

Jack crouches slightly to tug the bundled-up ball of fabric free from his bare foot. He’d stepped on it, or rather into it, as he rolled out of bed and into yesterday’s shirt and trousers to check on the Rift monitoring programmes upstairs. Ianto had long since deserted him by that point in favour of a hot and rather leisurely shower before work. Jack can’t bring himself to begrudge Ianto this one indulgence, considering the fact that his boyfriend has been sick with a horrendous cold and has barely left Jack’s cramped bed for a good few days now. 

Shaking out the offending item of clothing, Jack realises that it’s the jumper that Ianto has been wearing non-stop during his bout of illness. It probably needs a good wash - Ianto would certainly say so, and would yank it out of his grasp before throwing it into the wash basket in disgust. Instead, Jack brings it to his nose and sniffs, inhaling the familiar scent of Ianto’s aftershave, and indeed of Ianto himself. It’s strangely comforting in a way that little else is, in this still-unfamiliar century so far from home. 

Jack considers this for all of several seconds before he hears Ianto call out to him from the bathroom, and makes a snap decision. He’s pulling the jumper over his head when Ianto sticks his head around the doorway to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. 

“Could you check if we’ve got any milk left in the fridge? It somewhat slipped down my list of priorities while I was bedridden, I will admit.” Ianto grins at Jack, whose heart thuds delightedly in his chest. 

“Yeah, sure,” Jack replies distractedly, the sight of Ianto’s smile and the scent of Ianto in his nostrils converting any semblance of a coherent train of thought into a stream of _IantoIantoIanto_. He smiles adoringly at his boyfriend, who blushes and ducks back into the bathroom.

Jack pulls on a pair of socks and his boots, his mind very much elsewhere, and places his hands on either side of the ladder that leads to his office. Having ascended the ladder, he makes a beeline for the kitchen, and is surprised to hear the wail of the sirens and the whir of the cog door from where he’s now crouched in front of the fridge. He and Ianto must be running even later than they’d thought when Jack finally relinquished his octopus-like hold around Ianto in bed, and gave in to his boyfriend’s determination to “at least look _tidy_ after being in bed for days, Jack - we’re still at work after all.”

“Morning, Jack,” Gwen calls, and Jack winces. Fairly late, then.

“Morning, Gwen,” Jack replies, extracting a carton of days-old milk from the fridge and straightening up. He unscrews the top and sniffs at it cautiously, before shrugging and screwing the top back on, shoving it back into the fridge to be dealt with later. 

Jack steps out of the kitchen and strides over to the computers, surprised to see no Tosh at her workstation. Not as late as he’d thought, apparently - that, or both Tosh and Owen are hungover and running late after their trip out to ‘play pool’, as they had so carefully been calling it. 

The minute Jack stops in front of Gwen her gaze zeroes in on his chest, her eyes narrowing minutely. 

“Hang on, is that the jumper I bought you last Christmas?” Gwen asks, and Jack’s easy smile freezes on his face. Trust Gwen to recognise it instantly, despite the fact that Jack’s never actually worn it before now. 

“I believe it is,” Ianto says from behind Jack, as he carefully picks his way down the stairs to Jack’s office, still a little unsteady on his feet after his cold. 

“But you _never_ wear the things I buy you,” Gwen exclaims in disbelief, “I _know_ you don’t! Doesn’t stop me from buying them, of course, because that’s just what you do, isn’t it? But what’s made you change your mind about this one?”

Ianto has reached the pair and glances down at Jack’s chest too, the realisation dawning almost instantly. He gives Jack a pointed look, smirking, and Gwen looks between the two before bursting into peals of laughter. 

“Oho, I get it now,” she gets out between her giggles. “Jack, I never knew you could be so _sweet_!”

Jack resolutely does _not_ blush, no matter what Ianto and Gwen might have to say on the matter, and mumbles something about fancying a change before dashing back into the kitchen to double-check the milk. 

“That’s the jumper I was wearing,” Ianto comments in a conversational tone from the doorway, as Jack finally accepts that the semi-skimmed has died a death during the last few days. 

“It is,” Jack replies carefully, turning to face Ianto with a sheepish grin on his face. “Is that a problem, Mr Jones?” 

“Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact,” Ianto says coyly, stepping within arm’s reach of Jack and winding his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “I do declare that sentimentality becomes you, Mr Harkness.”

Jack smiles fondly, leaning forward to peck Ianto’s lips once, twice, three times. The milk clatters to the worktop, the top lost to the floor of the kitchen, as Jack wraps his arms around Ianto’s neck. 

“Mr Jones, I do believe it does.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to drop by and say hi on twitter (@hetheyharkness) or tumblr (kingisdead), should you so desire it. Comments, kudos etc. are very much appreciated! Have a great day :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sweater Weather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929614) by [princessoftheworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds)
  * [inside this place is warm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248165) by [princessoftheworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds)




End file.
